


(one more hit) and i can own you

by lipgallagher



Series: (shoot the lights out, hide) till its bright out [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Character Typical Racism/Misogyny/Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-25 19:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13219857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipgallagher/pseuds/lipgallagher
Summary: The most dangerous thing walking around Hawkins goes by the name Billy Hargrove.And he fucking knows it.ALTERNATIVELY: a couple of days in the life of billy hargrove, hawkins' local overly aggressive unnecessarily prejudiced blue eyed demon child who probably couldnt button up a shirt if it would save his fucking life.





	(one more hit) and i can own you

**Author's Note:**

> this is the kind of fic that i cant really add notes to without it turning into a really long dvd extra type of deal, which i dont think anyone would be particularly interested in, for this one, so im going to attempt to leave it at the following:
> 
> 1a maybe a year ago i wrote exactly half of a character study for a character i hated bc i was feeling particularly vulnerable and was listening to kanye wests _hold my liquor_ on repeat. full disclosure i am Now feeling vulnerable Again and somehow Forgot what a terrifying song _hold my liquor_ is (for me personally it is terrifying but i also think its a very good song its just not the best vibe for me, mental health wise? if you are a fan of good tunes and have slightly less and/or different trauma than i do you will probably like it, its a good song) and so this happened as a result. 
> 
> 1b when i realised that _hold my liquor_ was fucking me up, i took a break and ended up listening to _sweatpants_ by childish gambino (which is a tune and a half regardless of i think any trauma you could possibly have ever? solid 10/10) which features a repeated line 'rich kid asshole / paint me as a villain' and i was like...oh, excellent, good, bc thats Exactly what i need right now, and then this became a fic thats Almost just as much about steve harrington as it is about billy hargrove, and yet. not quite. almost though.
> 
> 2 billy tells mrs wheeler that he went looking for max at the sinclairs first and mrs sinclair told him the kids were at the wheelers house. as far as i can tell (not very far? i havent seen all of s2 yet lmao) billy is canonically a terrifying gross horrible racist but he hid it long enough to have a conversation with mrs sinclair and that made me want a fic that delved into that a little bit. i think i had originally thought a scene where billy ran into lucas at the supermarket or someplace where he was out with his family would be interesting bc his mum would be expecting him to be charming and lucas would be (rightly) expecting the fucking antichrist? anyway thats what i meant to write and then the whole thing just got away from me. 
> 
> 3 im not a billy hargrove apologist. again, i am not entirely familiar with canon, and i understand theres a (semi?) popular theory about him not actually being a racist, but he is definitely physically and verbally abusive to a little girl in multiple episodes, and just that would be enough so...yikes. i do think billy presents an interesting case of victim turned abuser, but i personally dont think that his trauma excuses the damage he inflicts on others.
> 
> 4a i dont fully understand the concept of study hall much like i dont understand the concept of dungeons and dragons, or science, or basketball. (un)fortunately i understand almost every other concept this fic deals with, so youre probably in for a more or less accurate reading experience.
> 
> 4b apologies in advance.

"I'm doing  _what_ , now?"  

Harrington doesn't flinch, doesn't smile, doesn't put on a front of  _I'm just messing with you, Hargrove_.

No, instead of acting like a fucking _sane_ person, Harrington just repeats, "You  _owe_ me. Buy me a fucking milkshake." 

Billy, who has  _already_ done penance for his basically nonexistent sin of trying to get a little girl away from someone who seemed to be, at the time, a _clearly_ established creep, doesn't see how this makes _any_ fucking sense. 

He didn't beat Harrington  _that_ bad.

Maybe it seemed rough at the _time_ , he'll give Harrington _that_ , and, _okay_ , it didn't help that Billy _laughed_  the whole goddamn time, _that_ made him seem like a fucking psycho, and he's _not_ , but. 

Come on. 

It's not  _Billy's_ fault if nobody ever taught Harrington to take a hit before, _is_ it?

And Billy has had to deal with a nightmare of a guy beating on _him_ out of nowhere, _too_ , he's had to deal with that for  _years_ , and so he knows from experience that it's not all that scary when it's happening.

_Sure_ , it's _confusing_ , because it hurts, because there's no way to make it stop, because he doesn't want to hear excuses, he doesn't want to see tears, he doesn't want to hear an apology.

He's pissed off, so.

He won't stop until he goddamn  _wants_ to stop.

It's a bummer, but it  _happens_. 

And Billy  _knows_ he maybe went a little too far, and _maybe_ he grabbed Sinclair when he shouldn't have, because, okay, _yeah_ , Billy doesn't like him, but Sinclair's still just a little boy, and Billy's a patient guy.

He can give the kid a few years, let him get big enough to fight back before Billy ever takes a _real_ swing at him.

He knows he hasn't really been acting like it lately, but Billy fucking _loves_ a fair fight. 

The thing is, Billy's pretty sure he won't still be kicking around Hawkins by the time Max is old enough to go around slutting it up, unless he ever has to come back for Christmas, or if his dad drops dead, or something, so.

Sinclair's _probably_ going to be just fine, but, _yeah_ , Billy shouldn't have gone after him, he _understands_ that he got a little out of control,  _fine_ , but at least he made sure that everybody  _knew_ what they did  _wrong_. 

Max wasn't supposed to go out with Sinclair, and she  _knew_ it. 

Harrington wasn't supposed to fucking _lie_ right to Billy's _face_ , and _he_ knew that, _too_.

The way he immediately lost it when he realized Billy fucking _knew_ he was lying?

_That_ was good.

That was a kind of sharp satisfaction Billy's never felt before, one that ran up through his toes, played around in his veins, and filled up his mouth better than anything else he's ever tasted.

And Billy's got this funny little craving, now, so.

He's pretty sure he's going to need to get himself another bite of that, real soon, before he loses his fucking _mind_. 

If Billy had let him do it that night, he fucking _knows_ Harrington would've fed him the sweetest apology he could, because he  _knew_ he fucked up, and he _knew_ what that meant Billy was going to have to do to him.

Not that it was all _Harrington's_ fault.

That night was rough from start to fucking finish.

Billy was worked up before Susan and Dad even came home, and _then_ he was worked up having to walk into the Sinclair's place, and he was _still_ worked up putting the moves on Mrs Wheeler. Maybe he didn't _seem_ like it, but there wasn't a _second_ where he didn't feel like he was about to shake right out of his skin, so it was just a matter of time before he hit _somebody_ , and.

And then Harrington was just _there_.

Even on a good day, Billy can't fight back with his dad, and it's not like he can hit anybody _else_ he spends time with, because it's always just Susan and Max and the first girl he can find at school who's willing to suck his dick. 

Billy can't hit Dad, but he  _could_ hit Harrington, and Harrington shouldn't have fucking _lied_ to him, but he _did_ , and, hey, at least Harrington can't say Billy never did anything for him, right?

He's going to think twice before lying like that again. 

"Not that it's  _your_ fucking business, but I already apologized to Max," he informs Harrington. "And  _all_ of those little bastards, too, actually, except the one with the weird face."

Harrington asks, " _What_? Which one?" 

"The one with all that hair, the one who's your fucking _shadow_. I don't." Billy sighs, "He wears a hat, every day, like a fucking _freak_?"

" _Oh_ , Dustin." 

"Yeah, fine, look,  _Dustin_ saw me pull up at the gas station and started screaming to his mommy about _stranger danger_  before I even got out of my car, so he doesn't  _get_ a fucking apology. The rest of the fucking rugrats got them, though, so you can get up off my dick _anytime_ you want, alright, pretty boy?" 

" _All_ of them?" Harrington narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Even Lucas?" 

Billy rolls his eyes. "I did him  _first_ , are you kidding me? He's the only one of you people who  _deserved_  a fucking apology, in the  _first_ place." 

Harrington's face is still banged up.

He doesn't come to basketball anymore, so Billy can't be _too_ sure of what kind of damage he did that night, but a kick to the ribs is _always_  going to be a bitch and a half, and Harrington looks like the kind who bruises easy, anyway.

Pretty boy, like Billy said from the start.

He's probably still fucked up all over, _all_ because of Billy, and Billy's saying, right here, to his fucking _face_ , that he doesn't _deserve_ an apology.

He watches Harrington watching him, like Harrington thinks that now that Billy's said it out loud and realized how untrue it was, maybe Billy is going to give him that apology, after all. 

Billy kind of thought Harrington knew him _better_ than that by now. 

Besides, apologies mean jack shit.

Dad used to apologize to Billy, back home, back when Mom was alive, back when he could write it off as _listen, I had a couple of drinks, I don't really remember what I did, but I'm sorry, alright, Billy? Here, how about we go see a movie? Whichever one you want, buddy._

But then he would do it again, and after a while, he stopped saying he was sorry, and a while after _that_ , Billy stopped holding his breath waiting for something that obviously wasn't going to fucking happen.

Billy doesn't mind apologizing to a little kid who's got parents he can go cry to, parents who might call the cops, cops who might find out that Billy's got a record back in LA, cops who might keep a close eye on him, then, but.

He's not wasting his time on _Harrington_. 

If the rumors are true, and Billy heard them straight from Tommy, who used to be tight with Harrington, so chances are good that he's got solid information, Harrington _practically_ lives by himself, because his parents don't give enough of a shit to even _pretend_ to pay attention to him, not even after Harrington threw a pool party and some bitch died at his house, which is some crazy rich people shit, right there. 

If a girl died within even a five mile _radius_ of Billy, his dad would _never_ let him hear the end of it.

"I had to go to his fucking  _house_ , because that fucker is the only one of you losers with a fucking  _brain_ , so he stays the hell out of my way, and to be _honest_ with you, I usually like that, but. It was  _real_ annoying, because I'm not _you_ , you know?  _I_ have shit to do;  _I_  can't be chasing little kids around all fucking day."

And that's true.

Billy's only out and about right now because Dad and Susan went out of town for the day, and Max wanted to go to the arcade, and Billy would've _murdered_ somebody with his bare hands if it meant getting out of the house for even a _minute_ , so he's killing time at the diner by the arcade while he waits for the brat to finish up. 

_She_ wasn't supposed to go out today, _either_ , so if she knows what's fucking _good_ for her, Max won't rat him out when Dad gets home. 

Billy can't chase anybody anywhere, because, after what happened in November, his ass is grounded until _January_. 

He can drive his car to school, and Max to the arcade, and himself to the grocery store, but only if Susan is  _desperate_ , does she knock on his door and hand him some cash and ask him to go get milk, or something, except she's probably never going to do _that_ again, because the last time he bought milk, she made this annoyed face, like maybe he got the wrong kind, which was _hilarious_ , because milk is all the  _same_ , so Billy went, _cool?_ and she went, _yeah, thank you, Billy_ , and then went back to ignoring him, as per goddamn usual, and so Billy shrugged and sat down and watched half of a _Star Trek_ rerun with Max, that episode where Captain Kirk is split into two people, where one of them is a fucking demon and the other one is a useless crybaby, and then the power of love or teamwork or some bullshit like that sticks them back together at the end. 

Dad came home early, so Billy wasn't really able to catch the end of the episode, but he's _assuming_ that's how it went.  

Harrington looks incredibly unimpressed and, actually, kind of like he wants to spit in Billy's face, or something, and it's _crazy_ , but Billy wants to know if he'll really do it.

It's a bitch move, _spitting_ on somebody, like pulling hair or scratching or biting, but Harrington can't take care of himself, as they both fucking know, so.

Billy thinks he would probably let Harrington get away with acting like a girl, if they decided to go for another round.

He grins, winks, presses, "Sinclair's mom is a fucking  _fox_ , though, huh? I mean, not as fine as, uh. What's her name. Your girl...?"

" _Nancy_?"

"Yeah, Nancy. Well,  _Nancy's_ mother is practically a fucking  _centerfold_ ," Billy says, because it's fucking  _true_ , not that anybody could guess it by looking at tiny mousy boring as all hell Nancy Wheeler. "Hey, are we sure Nancy's _hers_? I mean, she _adopted_ , or something?" 

The waitress ventures back over to Billy's table, for the first time since she brought him a cup of coffee and a slice of pumpkin pie, asks Harrington, "What can I get you, baby?" 

Harrington gives Billy an expectant look. 

Billy hears his own voice, dark, on the edge, goddamn  _desperate_ to sink in his teeth and fucking  _hurt_ somebody.

It's dark, it's just him and Harrington, all alone, and he's calling out,  _am I dreaming, or is that you_?

He's slipping off his jacket and dropping,  _amigo_.

He's pointing a smoke at Max and her shithead friends, cooing,  _then, who is that?_

Drawing Harrington closer, playing like he wasn't going to hurt him until it was too late for Harrington to get away, listening to him lie and letting him panic and making him  _gasp_ for breath.

But they're not alone _now_ , so.

Billy sighs.

Harrington turns a smile on for the waitress, lets it turn his yellow-bruised face all soft and sweet, when he orders, "Vanilla milkshake, please? With  _extra_ whipped cream." 

 

 

 

 

Billy doesn't want to be  _friends_ with Harrington. 

Fine,  _whatever_ , he admittedly wanted to _fuck_ Harrington when he first got to Hawkins,  _fine_ , but only because he was  _bored_ ,and people kept walking around acting like Harrington  _was_ somebody, and he sure as hell didn't seem that way to  _Billy_ , and Billy fucking  _hates_ being lied to, hates people wasting his time, hates people keeping things from him, so.

He wanted to teach Harrington a little lesson about keeping secrets, but he doesn't want that anymore. 

It's not about Max and her little threat, it's just.

There's something _about_ Hawkins.

It's fucking _draining_. 

Billy's hollowed out, he's half-dead, he's King fucking Kong, lost and trapped and wanting to go _home_. 

It's pathetic and disgusting and _infuriating_ , being locked down like this in this waste of a town. 

Dad couldn't have come up with a better punishment than Hawkins if he had fucking  _tried_. 

Graduation's coming, and as soon as it does, Billy's fucking  _gone_ , but it's not coming soon  _enough_ , and Susan wants to go on vacation for Christmas, and Dad's been losing his mind about it because it's going to cost him too much money, and when _Dad_ freaks out,  _Billy_ is the one who has to answer for it, which isn't fucking _fair_ , because Billy doesn't give a single shit about Susan's Christmas plans. 

He doesn't want to be _friends_ with Harrington, because he doesn't want to be _friends_ with _anyone_. 

He wants to get laid, he wants to get drunk, and mostly, he just wants to go back _home_. 

But he's not going back to California anytime soon, because Billy never gets what he wants. 

Not when it matters, anyway. 

He and Harrington have two classes together, if study hall counts as a class, and Billy doesn't really think it does, so he never shows up for it, but on the penultimate day before Christmas break, Harrington catches Billy before he can duck out to the parking lot, like, "Hey, Hargrove. You gotta get this signed and bring it in tomorrow for study hall." 

Billy stares at the sheet of paper Harrington's trying to hand him, but he doesn't take it. 

He doesn't understand what's going on. 

Harrington gives him a minute, then helps him out, by going, "You would  _know_ this if you ever  _came_ to study hall, okay, but. We sit alphabetically? So Jones calls out Gomez, Hargrove, Harrington, McCleary,  _every_ fucking day, man. You're supposed to sit with me."

 

 

 

 

The sheet of paper is a permission slip.

There's a field trip coming up, in the middle of January, and if Billy wants to go, Billy's got to have his dad sign it before break starts. 

Or Susan, probably. 

She's legally his guardian, since she's married to his dad, now, right?

So, _yeah_ , she could sign it, but she would just end up telling Dad about it, _anyway_ , and Dad would get pissed at Billy for not bringing it straight to him.

Billy doesn't really  _want_ to go on this dumb fucking trip, but he can hear Harrington on a relentless loop in his head,  _you're supposed to sit with me_.

Harrington's turning into a goddamn problem. 

Billy's going to have to do something about that. 

 

 

 

 

"Hey," Billy says, carefully closing Max's bedroom door behind him. "Let me ask you something."

He woke up early, jacked off thinking about how fucking _fine_ Phoebe Cates was in _Fast Times At Ridgemont High_ , faked Dad's signature for that school thing, made some coffee, lifted weights for twenty-six minutes, took a shower, smoked three cigarettes, and then fucking _finally_ heard Max getting out of bed, through the wall, so now's the perfect time for this. 

He could have just made the kid get up as early as he did, so.

Dad can shut up about _respect and responsibility_ any fucking day now, because Billy is fucking respectful as _shit_. 

Max jumps, stops trying to work her hair into a braid, goes, "Stay  _away_ from me, Billy." 

"Look, you still hanging out with all those boys?"

"I  _told_ you to leave me and my friends  _alone_." 

_I almost killed you with a terrifying fucking torture instrument disguised as a baseball bat, and I'd do it again, motherfucker_  goes unsaid, but it's still in her voice, and Billy's not deaf, or dumb, or fucking _brain-damaged_ , so he hears it. 

Anybody that's not Billy would walk away from a bitch with a voice like that.

But Billy _is_ Billy, so he stays where he is, smiles, tells her, "Dad wanted Harrington's phone number. Just in case he and Susan need a babysitter when they go out of town."

This is a little bit of a lie. 

It's actually more than that?

It's a fucking huge, dumb,  _unbelievable_ lie. 

He's said it before, and he'll say it again and again and _again_ if that's what it takes to get people to fucking _listen_ to him, but when _Billy_ was Max's age,  _he_ didn't need a goddamn babysitter. 

Billy ran wild and did whatever the fuck he wanted and kept himself alive by downing Sunny Delight and Pop-Tarts five times a day, and he'd argue that  _he_ turned out just fine, but he's not a fucking idiot, so he's  _aware_ he's got a couple character flaws, but.

The point is, Billy didn't need a babysitter, and Max doesn't, either.

He doesn't know what the fuck is _wrong_ with people in Indiana, just generally, or with people in Hawkins, particularly, but as far as Billy can tell,  _none_ of those kids  _need_ Harrington hanging all over them and buying them candy bars and taking them to the fucking arcade. 

It's almost  _glacial_ outside, and Billy  _still_ only gives in and takes Max to the arcade on days when the snow is coming down real hard and he's got literally  _nothing_ better to do, and he _doesn't_ feel bad about it, not even a little bit. 

She's building character. 

Max will be a _real_ tough bitch someday, and she'll only have _Billy_ to thank for it, because God knows everybody  _else_ treats her like she's made out of fucking _porcelain_. 

"Will you drive me to the arcade after school?" 

Billy answers, immediately, "No fucking way."

Max looks murderous again,  _dangerous_ , almost makes him feel like he's flat on his back on the ground with her standing over him, bigger and stronger and willing to do fucking  _anything_ to prove it to him, but. 

Unfortunately for _her_ , that's looking more and more like it was a one-time only kind of a deal. 

And Max might not like it, she might not like  _him_ , but she should get used to _looking_ at him, because he's her fucking future. 

Sure, maybe Billy's a little bit smarter than her, but he's also a little bit crazier, too, right?

He knows that, but, for the most part, they're the same fucking person. 

It's not his fault if she can't see it yet.

Like they're  _negotiating_ , like she's in a fucking _position_ to do that, like she has  _anything_  that Billy can't just fucking reach out and  _take_ if he wants it, Max tries, "I'll get you Steve's number if you take me to the arcade?" 

The shower shuts off. 

Dad is still asleep, or he would have come out of his room to give Billy shit for giving _Max_ shit, so that means that Susan is up, and is about to get out of the shower, and is going to pass by Max's room to start breakfast. 

If Billy doesn't leave _right_ now, she'll see him when she stops to check in on Max on her way to the kitchen, and Billy's life is shitty enough without Susan telling Dad that Billy was giving Max a hard time, so.

He pushes off from where he's been leaning back against the door, shakes his head, laughs, "Fuck you, pipsqueak. I'm leaving in fifteen minutes. Be ready." 

 

 

 

 

He's adding one last spray of product to his hair when Susan calls, from the kitchen, "Breakfast is ready, Billy!" 

"Yeah, it's okay, I'm good!" 

He told Max fifteen minutes, but he's at eleven now, and four minutes isn't going to be enough time to eat whatever the fuck Susan's expecting him to eat.

Max will fucking _worship_  Billy for the next few days if he stops at McDonald's and grabs them both some hash browns on the way to school, so maybe he'll just do that. 

It's fair enough, for fucking harassing her first thing in the morning, right? 

Then they'll be even. 

He's walking out of his room, patting himself down, checking for his keys, his wallet, his Marlboros, and then he's getting slammed against the wall, right next to the kitchen door as Dad asks, quiet, serious as a heart attack, _already_ pissed off, "Did you thank Susan for breakfast?" 

Billy thinks, _I didn't fucking eat breakfast._

Billy thinks, _your fucking bitch wife can't cook to save her goddamn life._

Billy thinks, _get your fucking hands off me. I'm the faggot? Why are you always fucking touching me?_

Billy calls, through the door, "Thank you for breakfast, Susan." 

She can't see him. 

She _knows_ what's going on, though. 

She could say something, and Dad would probably back off. 

They both know that. 

But she hasn't yet, and she _never_ fucking will, because she's a fucking _pussy_. 

It's not fair, and he _knows_ it, but sometimes, Billy hates Susan even more than he hates his dad. 

"You're welcome, Billy," she calls back, and then Max is rushing through the door, saying something about how she's _got_ to get to school early to talk about D &D with her friends before class. 

"What's D&D?" 

Billy thinks, _Dungeons and Dragons, you ancient motherfucker._

By the front door, Max sighs, stops, pulls on her backpack, "Dungeons and Dragons, it's. It's just a game, Neil. _Billy_ , come _on_ , you're gonna make me _late_." 

Dad's still caging him in by the kitchen door. 

Billy's not dumb enough to move until Dad lets him. 

"Fucking _behave_ today," Dad hisses, finally. "Drive your sister _straight_ home after school." 

"Yes, sir."

 

 

 

 

School is boring. 

Before moving to Hawkins, Billy only had to change schools once, after Mom died and Dad moved them to a different neighborhood that was closer to his job. 

Billy hadn't really cared, because he didn't have a lot of friends, anyway, and the new school was in the same district as his last school, so he was still learning the same shit at the exact same pace.

He's experiencing a much different vibe in Hawkins, because Hawkins operates like the whole goddamn town is jetlagged, _all_ the fucking time. 

_Seriously_ , Billy's pretty sure none of his textbooks have been updated since the 50s, because his classes are _outrageously_ easy.

The one challenge he gets, _all_ day long, comes from fucking with Harrington in basketball, but he doesn't even have _that_  anymore, because Harrington fucking _stole_ it from him, _just_ because he's a little bitch who can't take a punch to the face.

Or two.

Or three.

And, okay, Billy is _fairly_ sure that he broke a plate over Harrington's head, but Billy straight up _refuses_ to take responsibility for that one. 

Anybody who's ever been pushed around before knows goddamn well _not_ to take it into the kitchen.

That's the most dangerous room in any house.

There's glass, knives, _all_  of that shit, just laying around  _everywhere_ , and it's all cheap, too, so it can all be replaced if it breaks. 

_When_ it breaks.

And, anyway, it's not like it was  _Billy's_ idea to get bent back over a sink.

That was _all_ Harrington.

Billy's actually taught him a _lot_ of lessons, now that he _really_ thinks about it.

That's a _lot_ of favors Harrington owes him. 

 

 

 

 

When Billy gets to study hall for the first time, he realizes he was fucking _right_ to avoid it for so long, because he is bored out of his  _mind_ even before the starting bell rings.

Harrington's not there yet, so Billy doesn't really know where he's supposed to sit, but it's still in his head, that fucking rich kid asshole is _still_ in his goddamn head, going, _you're supposed to sit with me_ , going, _Gomez, Hargrove, Harrington, McCleary_. 

Billy doesn't know who McCleary is, but he recognizes Gomez from basketball.

Gomez is second-string, usually sits out, so they've never had to talk, or anything, but the two-person desk behind his is empty, so Billy claims a seat, puts down his bag, waits. 

The bell rings right when the door opens, right when Harrington slips in, and falls into the chair next to Billy's, and  _completely_ ignores him, so. 

Billy hums, "Buenos dias, amigo." 

Harrington makes eye contact with him apparently _just_ so it won't be lost on Billy when he rolls his eyes. 

Billy laughs, and almost everyone in the room turns to look at him, leading Mr Jones to ask, "Something to share with the class, boys?" 

"Nah, that's okay," Billy assures him, grinning. "Inside joke." 

Harrington looks like he's trying to figure out where to hide Billy's body after he fucking _murders_ him. 

Billy can't help it. 

He laughs again. 

 

 

 

 

Math was supposed to start five minutes ago, but the substitute teacher hasn't shown up yet, so for now, the classroom is full of teenagers running loose, being loud as hell, and, for once, Billy's not all that interested in taking part, so he's just working on developing the most annoying sprawl he can, from the back of the room, sitting on top of his desk.

" _Um_ , Billy? Hi."

Her name's Candy, Carla, Catie. 

_Something_. 

Everyone has a name, right?

And Billy's always been good with names, if he gives a shit, but lately, he doesn't. 

Honestly, it's a fucking _marvel_ that he's remembered _anyone's_ name in Hawkins.

The girl keeps talking to him, but Billy's not listening, because there's no point.

It's not going to be anything _interesting_. 

He nods a few times, lets his mouth stretch into something like a smile, keeps his eyes on hers until she blushes.

Girls _love_ that shit.

Eye contact.

Billy doesn't know _why_.

He hates having to pretend to _connect_ with people. 

He hates it, but there's really nothing else to do, right now, and, anyway, she's  _close_ to being a perfect ten by Indiana standards, petite, perfectly curled hair, nice enough curves, but Billy grew up just outside of LA, so he saw prettier girls than her every single day of his life up until he got shipped out to the single most boring part of the Midwest, and. 

And she steps forward, gets between his legs, tugs at a strand of her hair when she tells Billy that there's going to be a party at her place tonight if he wants to come. 

Billy lies, "Oh, I'd _love_ to, baby." 

 

 

 

 

He's rubbing his hands together, after school, because it is fucking  _freezing_.

Billy can  _see_ his breath coming out in clouds in front of him.

He's  _actually_ going to freeze to death, because he's _not_ about to turn the car on and waste gas for no reason, and. 

And Harrington comes walking by, all alone, without Nancy Wheeler trailing around after him, or that fag Wheeler wastes her time with, or anyone the fuck else.

Harrington's been alone a _lot_ , these days.

If he was a girl, if it wouldn't be fucking _sick_ on account of how Billy's beat the hell out of him before, he'd pounce, right about now.

He could talk his way into Harrington's bed in thirty minutes or less, _guaranteed_ , like ordering a fucking pizza.

_That's_ how easy it would be, but Billy's too cold to talk, right now, and when Dad decided on Indiana, Billy didn't think the underlying lesson to be learned was _dress for the fucking weather, Billy_ , except now that he's stuck out here in the thick of it, he can tell that that was almost _definitely_ why Dad didn't just move them to fucking Texas.

He's _such_ a fucking asshole.

_Fuck_ , it's cold.

Harrington had  _better_ not stop to talk to Billy.

But maybe Billy's getting ahead of himself, right?

Why _would_ Harrington talk to him? They ignore each other _all_ the time. He'll just walk on by. Billy _needs_ him to do that, because Billy _can't_ talk to him right now. His _teeth_ are probably fucking _chattering_ , like something from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. It'll ruin his usual alpha male routine, and, okay, that's not actually _too_ important to Billy, but Harrington has probably come to expect that shit from him, by this point, and Billy always hates to disappoint a pretty face.

Harrington stops, eyes Billy like he's trying to make some kind of decision, like he doesn't know that it's too  _cold_  for this shit.

" _What_?" Billy spits. "What's your _problem_?" 

"It's _three_."

"Thanks, but I know how to fucking tell time." 

"Yeah, I bet," Harrington scoffs, running one hand up and back and over his hair. When he brings his hand back down, his hair looks the exact same. Untouched. Billy can't fucking believe it, because  _his_ hair looks like shit if he fucking  _breathes_ too deep. Billy  _has_ to find out what kind of hairspray Harrington uses, but he can't think of a strictly platonic heterosexual way to ask about something like that, probably because there just _isn't_ a way to do that, at all, not in the universe that Billy currently lives in, anyway. "Maybe she didn't tell you, but Max does AV with the boys, now." 

"Are you speaking _English_ to me?" 

"AV Club? It's, like. I don't know. Some kinda science, I think. It takes them about a hour. I get Dustin after, sometimes." 

This isn't the  _worst_ news Billy's ever gotten, but. 

It's definitely up there. 

Top ten, probably. 

" _Fuck_."

"I could get Max for you if you don't wanna wait," Harrington offers. 

" _Excuse_ me?" Billy demands. "Why the _fuck_ would you do that?" 

Harrington shrugs.

"You look cold." 

It's about fifteen degrees, today, _maximum_ , and Billy's wearing a shirt that's only buttoned-up halfway.

He is _absolutely_ cold.

Is Harrington a fucking _moron_? 

Somebody needs to teach King Steve about picking up on context clues. 

"I  _am_ cold, Harrington, but I'll fucking _manage_ to survive. Thanks for your concern." 

 

 

 

 

"I didn't  _say_ I would wait around for you for another fucking  _hour_ , Maxine," Billy snarls, at exactly four thirty-three. "Actually, if it happened like I  _remember_ , and I'm pretty sure it  _did_ , you said arcade, and then I said...?"

Max is staring out the window, teeth sunk into her lower lip, obviously trying to ignore him. 

Billy doesn't _like_ being ignored. 

In fact, he won't stand for it. 

" _Hey_!" Billy grabs her shoulder, squeezes until she looks at him. "What the _hell_ did I say to you?" 

"You said _no_." 

"That's goddamn  _right_ , I said  _no_ ," Billy spits. " _So_ , I said  _no_ , and you thought, _what_? Oh, _good_ , I'll just waste Billy's time doing some _other_ shit Billy doesn't want me to do, _instead_?"

Max from that crazy fucking night, Max from this morning, Max telling Billy what's what, big and bad and practically fucking breathing _fire_ at him, is dead, or missing, or gone. 

He'll grant that she's  _somewhere_ , probably, but she's definitely not the Max who's sitting next to Billy, now, in his car. 

Billy knows  _this_ Max. 

They've spent a lot of time together. 

They're part of the same happy fucking family.

When she talks, now, it's like it's important, but like she doesn't know when Billy's going to decide he's heard enough, so she's got to move fast, got to get to the good part before he decides she's done, and shuts her up, himself. 

She knows him _real_ fucking well. 

No matter _what_ she has to say for herself, Billy's not planning on giving her more than twenty seconds. 

Billy counts to himself, silently, as she rushes, "I _don't_ usually get asked to come to AV, 'cause _Mike_ gets kinda weird about it, sometimes, but Dustin asked me at lunch, and I just thought if I said no _this time_ , they _weren't_ gonna invite me again, and I—"

"I don't give a  _shit_ about what  _you_ want to do with _your_ friends, Maxine. Not until it cuts into _my_ time.  _That's_ when I fucking care."

"It was just an  _hour_ , Billy." 

" _Yeah_ ," Billy concedes, because it's like he already fucking _said_ , to Harrington, before. He can _tell time_. "But it was  _my_ fucking hour, and you can't fucking give it  _back_ to me, can you?" 

"What  _else_ were you gonna do?!" Max exclaims, giving in, following his lead, losing her cool.  _Finally_. She's still not the bitch with the baseball bat. She's close, though. "You don't have  _any_ friends, and you don't even  _date_ anybody, anymore, all you do is sit in your fucking room and cry about how much you hate it here—"

Billy doesn't fucking  _cry_ in his room, but she doesn't mean it like that. 

She  _means_ he's a fucking pussy,  _yeah_ , but she doesn't actually think he  _cries_ , he can tell. 

He should let it go. 

She's just a kid, he's being unfair, it's not cool.

He needs to stop. 

Drive home, let it go, let her calm down. 

Maybe over Christmas break he can take Max out one day, buy her a hot chocolate or something, and they can talk, come to an understanding, stop nearly killing each other once every three days.

It's one thing for Billy to know what he _should_ do, though, and another to fucking  _do_ it. 

" _What_ , you fucking think you're tough shit, now, just 'cause you  _almost_ hit me,  _once_? For _real_? Because, you know _what_ , Maxine?  _Anybody_ can hit somebody  _once_. And,  _hey_ , call me crazy, but I've never seen that bat in the house, so it sure as  _shit_ isn't  _yours_."

"Don't  _threaten_ me, Billy."

What the fuck is she  _talking_ about? 

Raising his voice a little, swearing a  _little_ , being angry in _direct response_  to getting treated like he's less than fucking  _nothing_ , that's not a  _threat_ , it's not  _unreasonable_ , it's a fucking natural human reaction.

Billy's got blood running through his veins. 

Max isn't  _special_. 

They're the  _same_. 

He's human, _too_ , and so,  _yeah_ , sometimes  _he's_ got to bleed and scream and cry,  _too_. 

But Max's life is _so_ fucking sweet that she thinks a perfectly civil conversation is a  _threat_ , and Billy doesn't want her to keep living her life thinking shit like that. 

That's dangerous. 

That's going to get her in _trouble_ , someday, if she's not careful. 

They're still just in the parking lot, and nobody's there, except Max's dumbass friends, but they're all the way on the other side of the lot, so Billy guns the Camaro forward, pushes to the limit, skids out of the lot and onto the street, louder and meaner and faster than the Devil himself.  

Max isn't belted in, isn't expecting it, and she  _shrieks_ , sounds scared enough that Billy can't help throwing his head back, slamming a hand down on the steering wheel a few times as he laughs. 

He checks in his rearview, clocks Max's friends freaking out, staring after them, but he doesn't give a shit. 

They're not _his_ fucking problem. 

 

 

 

 

The first few minutes of the drive are sweet.

Billy _loves_ driving, loves being in control of something that nobody can take away from him, loves getting to move at exactly his pace and nobody else's.

But then the streets start getting too familiar, he starts recognizing cars he sees parked every day, old Halloween decorations that are still up, and he starts to lose it.

Dad won't be home for another hour, but that doesn't mean shit.

Billy _can't_ go home yet. 

Walking into that house feels dumber and dumber every fucking time he does it. 

It feels like walking into his own fucking grave, just lying down and _waiting_. 

Dad said _behave_ , and Billy _did_ , but he also said get Max home right after school, and Billy _didn't_ do that. 

It's not his _fault_ , but he still didn't do it. 

He can't go home today. 

Not yet. 

His hands shake and his chest heaves, he's breathing too fast, then too slow, then too fast again, just at the fucking _thought_ of it. 

He scared the shit out of Max, again, so she's not going to say anything, now, because sometimes, yeah, it seems like she gives a shit about him, but definitely not right now, right?

But it's only a matter of time before she casually mentions at dinner that she got home an hour late, and then.

Well, Billy _knows_ what's going to happen _then_. 

 

 

 

 

Billy drops Max off at the house, watches until she goes inside before he drives away. 

If they still lived out West, no matter how pissed he was, Billy wouldn't let her go in by herself. 

They lived in a good neighborhood before they moved, not great, but good enough, but Billy had heard enough stories about break-ins that he took it seriously when Max and Susan moved in. 

If Dad wasn't home already, Billy checked under beds and in closets and behind shower curtains to make sure nobody was waiting to rob them blind and kill them, or something.

He was just a baby when it happened, but every year, like a particularly morbid anniversary, people would talk about Sharon Tate, and Billy's mom would make him watch  _Valley of the Dolls_  with her, would tear up and shake her head and refuse to tell Billy why. 

After his mom died, Billy figured out the Sharon Tate thing by himself. 

His mom was tough as fucking nails, tougher than he ever gave her credit for, because he can't even  _think_ about _Valley of the Dolls_ , now, without wanting to puke. 

But that was LA.

He doesn't have to worry about crazy shit like that in Hawkins. 

The most dangerous thing walking around Hawkins goes by the name Billy Hargrove. 

And he fucking knows it. 

 

 

 

  

Harrington is drinking a milkshake at the diner off Main Street when Billy walks in. 

It's not like that night in November, where Billy had been pushed around and mocked and had his whole fucking night ruined just because Max was a dumb bitch who didn't know how to follow rules. 

_Sure_ , Billy still wants to break things, but there's nothing he can break here. 

Well, there's a jukebox, but Billy's seen some _really_ sturdy jukeboxes in his time, so.

He's probably not going to risk it.

The only thing more embarrassing than smashing something to pieces like a mindless feral child is trying _really_ hard, but ultimately _failing_ , to break something while other people watch.

And, there's also the small matter of how he's seen that cop around town, with Max's friends, with the Wheeler girl, with Harrington, even, once. 

If he steps out of line where anybody can see, where anybody can  _prove_ it, his ass is ending up in juvie by the end of the day, guaranteed. 

Or maybe not. 

He's seventeen, but that's more or less full grown, so. 

It could go either way. 

He grabs a couple of fries off Harrington's plate, stuffs them into his mouth, lets his teeth slam down so hard he can _hear_ them. 

It's probably bad for his teeth, but Billy doesn't give a fuck. 

It's worth it for just a second of that _rush_ , that feeling like he's tearing something to shreds, that feeling he _used_ to get every day and _never_ fucking gets, _now_. 

And it could be the food suddenly waking his body up, or it could be that feeling, Billy's not sure, but he suddenly feels _so_ fucking _hungry_. 

Harrington waits for him to swallow, then says, flatly, "Hi, Billy." 

Billy licks his lips around a smile. " _Hi_." 

 

 

 

 

There's a party tonight, Billy remembers, apropos of nothing, after he's been sitting across from Harrington for almost three hours.

There's a party, and Billy doesn't have to go home, because he can go there, and he can _definitely_ fuck that girl. 

Katie? Candace? Karen?

_Whatever_ her name was.

She basically _promised_ it to him, after all. 

Harrington says, out of nowhere, "Dustin stole my car today."

Billy blinks. " _What_? Isn't he three years old?"

"Thirteen, but yeah." Harrington sighs, "He said it was for science."

"He needed your _car_ for _science class_?"

" _No_ ," and Harrington sighs again, sounding _really_ fucking annoyed, now. "For _science_ , as in, _Steve, why don't you want me to grow as a scientist, Steve, I need this, come on, this is bullshit, Steve, you're ruining everything_."

"So, you're sitting here telling me you _gave_  that kid your car keys, right?" Billy pushes, "He didn't _steal_ it. You _gave_ it to him."

"Whatever. You wanna drive me home?" 

Billy thinks, _no_.

Billy leers, "You gonna put out for me, sweetheart?" 

Harrington rolls his eyes, drops some cash on the table, leaves. 

Billy watches him, licks his lips, follows. 

 

 

 

 

Harrington's car is parked in front of his house when Billy pulls into his driveway, but it's parked at a bad angle, ran halfway over a bed of flowers, and Harrington just _stares_ at it, then sighs, " _Jesus_." 

Billy snorts. "What did you _think_ was going to happen?" 

"Shut _up_ ," Harrington says. "I'm inspiring intelligence in a younger generation; it's _commendable_." 

"No, it's not," Billy informs him. "You're inspiring unhealthy, and honestly, really _weird_ dependency, and _apparently_ , now, shitty driving, _too_ , so. _Thanks_ for that. We're all _fucked_ , just 'cause King Steve wants to be Babysitter of the Year." 

"Oh, what the fuck do _you_ know," Harrington mutters, getting out of the Camaro, closing the door, heading up to the house. He raises his voice so Billy can hear it when he adds, "I'm not gonna be talked down to by some asshole who doesn't know how to button up a shirt despite being seventeen years old, okay? I'm _not_." 

Billy slams his door, follows after Harrington, snapping, "I _know_ how to button shirts." 

"Then you should start utilizing that skill," Harrington sneers, unlocking the front door and gesturing for Billy to walk in ahead of him. "Or you're going to freeze to death and die." 

"I should _be_ so fucking fortunate. That was my plan in the _first_  place, but I thought I'd die in _November_ , so now I'm fucked. I got to buy _Christmas presents_." 

Harrington laughs, then blinks, looks _shocked_ , like he can't believe Billy said something he found funny. 

And that's _wild_ , because Billy's fucking _hilarious_ , so.

Harrington needs to fucking check himself. 

"I'll pray for you," Harrington says, finally. "Maybe you'll die tomorrow." 

Billy blinks, now.

Harrington reaches out, drops his hand, probably remembering what happened the _last_ time he reached out and put a hand on Billy. 

Good for him. 

He nods, gestures at Billy's chest, and Billy looks down at his necklace, realizes, lies, "I'm not Catholic."

In a voice gone flat with disbelief, Harrington asks, "Oh, yeah? Does God know about that?"   

 

 

 

 

" _So_ ," says Billy, when he's been walked around the bottom floor of Harrington's house for a quick tour. His fucking huge, nice, _ridiculous_ house. " _King Steve_. You bring random dangerous-looking boys home with you, a lot, or what? Your parents just don't give a fuck?" 

Harrington rolls his eyes. "Look, just don't steal anything, don't _break_ anything—"

"What, I seem like somebody who's going to steal your stuff?" 

Harrington smiles, small and blank and polite. 

Billy wants to fucking knock him out. 

"Whatever, where's the couch?" 

"You can have the guest room," says Harrington, in a voice like he's really asking  _why would you not sleep in the guest room?_

Is Billy _really_ just supposed to front like it's _not_  dumb to live in a house where there's a room that's just fucking _empty_ on _purpose_?

There's just _no_ way in _hell_ that Billy is going to do that.

" _Rad_. Thanks a _bundle_."

Harrington points over his shoulder. "Phone's there. You should call your parents." 

"What, why?" 

"So they don't call the cops when you don't come home?" 

That's the funniest fucking thing Billy's heard in a _long_ time. 

Nobody's ever called the cops because Billy _didn't_ show up someplace. 

 

 

 

 

The guest room is nice. 

There's a clock on the nightstand, and Billy keeps catching himself looking at it. 

11:09, 12:37, 1:42.

Billy _must_ be getting a _little_ bit of sleep, because the time keeps changing faster than he can account for.

And then the clock says 3:56, and, across the hall, Harrington _screams_. 

Billy doesn't want to get up and deal with it, but his car's been parked outside the house all night, and Harrington's got neighbors, and Billy drives the only piece of shit Camaro in town. 

If Harrington's fucking _dead_ in the morning, maybe it won't be Billy's _fault_ , but he'll go down for it, anyway. 

He gets out of bed, opens the door, walks into Harrington's room without knocking. 

Harrington's blankets are on the floor, his bedroom _reeks_ of sweat, and that terrifying baseball bat is in his hands, in his bed, with him, like it's a fucking teddy bear. 

Billy says, loudly, making sure to keep himself out of swinging distance, " _Hey_. Harrington." 

Harrington doesn't look awake, but his grip on the bat relaxes, a little, and Billy looks at the clock in Harrington's room. 

It's identical to the one in the guest room, and it says 4:02. 

When it says 4:05, Harrington's stopped tossing, turning, whimpering. 

He drops the baseball bat. 

Billy picks it up, puts it in the closet in the guest room, and goes downstairs to look for a fucking couch to sleep on. 

Guest rooms are dumbass rich people bullshit, just like he thought. 

It's almost _exhausting_ , being right about everything all the time.  

 

 

 

 

"I already _told_ you, I  _can't_ ," Harrington's saying, when Billy wakes up. If there's a clock in this room, Billy can't see it. "I have somebody over." 

"Who?" 

"Yeah, _who_?"

"Who _is_ it?" 

"Who's _in_ there?" 

" _Jesus_ ," Harrington hisses, and all the other voices shut up. Harrington's not in the living room, with Billy, he's in the next room. Billy can't remember what's in the next room. Probably the front door. "Look, you people are on _thin_ fucking ice, with me, right now, okay? I mean, _Christ_ , who the fuck _parked_ yesterday?"

" _Me_ ," somebody says. " _I'm_ the best driver."

"Maybe that's true, I mean, I don't _believe_ it, but _maybe_ , okay, Wheeler, but you can't _park_ to save your fucking _life_ ," Harrington informs the kid, sounding annoyed as shit. "My mom's gonna _freak_ _out_ about her gardenias, and guess who's going to catch hell for that? _Me_."

"Sorry, Steve."

"Yeah, _sorry_."

"I didn't  _mean_ to—"

"We're _really_ sorry, and—"

"Oh, shut _up_ , look, I know for a fact that _all_ you fuckers have _parents_ who can drive you around." 

" _Yeah_ , we _do_ , but they're _oppressing_ us, Steve," one of the kids claims, drawing his voice into a loud dramatic moan. "They won't take us to the _movies_!" 

" _Dustin_ , that is not even _kind of_ what oppression means," Harrington replies. "What about Jonathan?"

"He's grounded. He and Nancy—"

"Shut _up_ , Will, don't tell _Steve_ about _that_ —"

Harrington groans, "Okay, _look_ —"

"Sorry, Steve, can I use your bathroom?" 

"Yes, fine, just _go_ , Christ," Harrington says, and Billy lifts his head off the couch just in time to see Sinclair disappear down the hallway. Harrington says, "Okay, what time does the movie start?" 

"Three-thirty." 

" _Okay_. What if you guys bike over there, since you're all right here now, I mean, how'd you fucking get _here_?" 

"...we rode our bikes," one of them admits, sighing.

" _Exactly_ , so, look, just bike over there, watch the movie, it's an hour and a half, right?"

"Okay, yeah, but it's a double feature, so—"

"Oh my God, _fine_. So, I'll pick you up at, what? Seven-thirty? Eight?"

" _Wow_ ," says one of the kids, voice mocking and monotonous and _mean_. "He can do basic math. What a genius.  _Ow_ , what the _hell_ , Dustin, don't _step_ on my—"

"Be _quiet_ , Mike, _Jesus_. Thanks, Steve," says the one who's probably Dustin. "You won't regret it!" 

"Are you joking? I _already_ regret it. Where the hell is—"

"Thanks, Steve," says Sinclair, running back to the door. "Did he say—"

"Yeah, he's picking us up!"

"You're a _hero_ , Steve, thank you!" 

"Yeah, whatever," sighs Harrington. " _Goddamn_ , just leave me _alone_." 

The door slams, Harrington's feet pound up the stairs, and Billy goes back to sleep. 

 

 

 

  

Billy sleeps, but he doesn't fucking _forget_. 

When he wakes up, Harrington is going, "Look, I don't care _where_ you go, but you can't stay _here_ , okay? Christ, who needs to sleep _that_ much? You know you've been asleep for basically a _whole_ day?" 

" _Sue_ me. Shouldn't you be out taking care of every single kid in the tri-state area, or what _ever_ the fuck it is you do when you're not all over me?" 

" _All over_ —" Harrington cuts himself off, eyes Billy like he wants to kill him, again. Billy would feel more threatened by a puppy, probably. It's kind of the most endearing thing ever. "Hargrove, I feel like you and me need to clear this up right now, okay, 'cause I _know_ how you latch onto shit and _never_ let it go, so. I babysit _one_ kid, _sometimes_ , out of _sheer_ boredom, okay? It's not _my_ fault he's got a fucking entourage." 

"Well, if _I_ had a kid, I wouldn't want it _anywhere_ near you. You're a fucking _freak_ ," Billy tells him, even though it's not really true.

Sure, Harrington can be loud, and kind of fussy, but he plants his feet, and _everything_ , these days, so.

He obviously takes direction pretty well, after a little training, and Billy likes that in a guy.

Harrington rolls his eyes.

He's got his car keys in one hand, shoes and jacket on, and.

And the house smells fucking _amazing_.

"What _is_ that? What did you _do_?" 

" _What_? Could you just get out of my house, already, please?" Billy stands up, feints like he's headed toward the door, then doubles back into the kitchen, hears Harrington calling after him, " _Real life_ is not a _basketball game_ , Hargrove! Jesus _Christ_!" 

Billy shouts back, "Can I eat some of this?!" 

By the time Harrington joins him in the kitchen, Billy's already eaten two fudge brownies and is working on a third one, so Harrington tells him, "The whole _point_ of asking permission for something is that you _wait_ until you get a yes or a no before you actually _do_ anything. You know that, right?" 

"Do you have any milk?" 

Harrington pulls out a glass, a bottle of milk, pours carefully as he mumbles, "I _really_ hate you." 

Billy ignores him, just eats two more brownies before he finally admits, "These are good. Maybe you're _not_ the worst babysitter ever."

That kid who mocked Harrington for being kind of an idiot has obviously never seen how quick Harrington _really_ is, but Billy can see it right now, _right_ in front of him, because Harrington smiles, then, and it's only because Billy's watching him carefully that he can tell it's not because of the compliment.

"You can have _all_ of those if you just _get_ lost, _right_ now." 

There's only six brownies left in the pan, and Billy's not _totally_  convinced that six brownies is adequate compensation for what could otherwise be a delightful night of bullying Harrington into making him some more food, but if there's anything Billy's good at, it's knowing when he's not fucking wanted, so he shrugs, "Only 'cause I'm feeling generous." 

"Oh, yeah," Harrington says. "You're a _real_ good man, Billy Hargrove." 

"Yeah, I _am_. Don't fucking forget it."

 

 

 

 

"You're late," says Dad. 

Billy wouldn't have come home if he thought Dad was going to be there. 

He and Susan go out on weekends, usually, but.

Here he is. 

Billy says, "Yeah. Sorry." 

Max darts out of her room, ignores Dad, ignores Susan, just comes straight up to Billy, asks, "Can you drive me somewhere? All my friends—"

"Ask your mother," Dad interrupts, eyes narrowing in on Max like she's doing something wrong just by opening her fucking mouth. "Don't waste Billy's time." 

If Max was _Billy's_ kid, this is when he'd put his foot down. 

Susan says nothing, though, because she's a pussy, and a fucking stupid one, too. 

Nobody cares less about wasting Billy's time than Dad. 

He's not telling Max don't waste _Billy's_ time.

He's telling Max don't waste a _man's_ time. 

He's saying, _Billy's bigger than you, and stronger than you, so when I'm not here, he's in charge_.

He means _fall in line_. 

In another year, or _less_ , maybe, Billy's not going to be the _only_ one getting smacked around, he can _tell_.

Susan needs to wise up, _fast_. 

Billy gets himself a can of Coke, waits in the kitchen until Susan follows him in and asks, from a few feet away, "Do you mind taking Maxine out? Some of her friends went to the movie theater earlier, and it was too cold for her to go alone, but we were still out, and—"

_Jesus_.

Why is she pretending she thinks she has to _ask_ him? 

They both _know_ he's going to drive Max around like it's his fucking _job_ , because if he _doesn't_ , he's going to have to put up with _so_ much shit from Dad. 

At least, thanks to Harrington being a loud motherfucker, Billy knows what to expect, tonight.

Dustin, Sinclair, those two other boys with dead eyes who could pass for identical fucking twins.

One of them went missing one time. He lived in the woods for a month, or something. Weird shit. _Occult_ shit, maybe. 

Billy lies, "I have a date tonight."

"Of course you do," Susan smiles, shaking her head slightly. "You know, Max was telling me and Neil, um. The kids have this babysitter? I don't know if he's someone you know from school, but apparently all those kids just _adore_ him."

Yeah, no _shit_.

He drives them everywhere, and he makes good brownies, and he carries around a baseball bat like it's a goddamn security blanket. 

Billy would adore Harrington, _too_ , if _he_ was thirteen and didn't know how to drive a car or talk to girls or do literally _anything_ worthwhile with his time. 

Billy asks, "What's his name?" 

"Steven something, I think? Anyway, apparently he's driving all the kids home, later. If you could just drive Maxine out to meet everyone before your date, Billy, I'd _really_ appreciate it. I think they're just planning on getting burgers, or something. Kid stuff, you know." 

Billy thinks,  _fuck you_. 

Billy says, "Yeah, okay. I gotta grab a jacket, then I'll take her."

 

 

 

 

If Max stares at the side of his head any harder, she's going to _actually_ burn a hole through his brain. 

Billy snaps, " _Stop_ it." 

" _Okay_ ," Max says slowly. "Where _were_ you today?"

"Who the fuck are you, my _mother_? Lay _off_." 

Max wonders, "Remember when you _weren't_ such a dick?" 

" _No_." 

Billy parks right across the street from the movie theater. 

Max doesn't open the passenger side door.

" _What_ , Maxine?" 

"Neil got _really_ pissed when you didn't come home last night."

"So _what_?"

"So, the guys invited me to see _Dune_ today, but I didn't go, and I only asked _you_ to take me out when you got home 'cause I thought Neil was going to be mean to you, so you should be grateful." 

"I didn't _ask_ you for _anything_ ," Billy reminds her. "Are you _kidding_ me?" 

"Sometimes you don't have to _ask_ for stuff, Billy," Max sighs, like she's smarter than him, _worldlier_ , or something like that. "Sometimes people just help because they _can_."

Billy thinks about himself, thinks about taking away Harrington's bat, thinks about bashing Harrington's fucking face in _just_ because he could, thinks about Harrington asking Billy to buy him a milkshake. 

Billy never would've done that if Harrington hadn't asked. 

Maybe some people do just help other people, but nobody has ever helped  _Billy_ , so he's not planning on helping anybody else, _either_. 

He opens his door, walks around to Max's side, pulls the door open.

Max looks up at him without getting out of the car. 

And, now, he doesn't fucking _want_ to think about it, he _doesn't_ , but Billy thinks about being in his room late at night that time in November, pushed up by the kitchen door in the morning just the other day, shoved into a fucking bookshelf and getting a cut that split open half his fucking face for almost two whole months before it healed up one time when he was a kid.

Billy's not Dad, but Max still isn't going to move until Billy lets her do it.

He knows that.

"If I don't say it, how the fuck is anybody supposed to know what I want?"  

"I don't know," Max says, quiet, slow, nonthreatening, like any of that would _really_ stop him if he was in the mood. It _wouldn't_. Doesn't she _know_ that by now? "Sometimes people _don't_ know, but it's not their _fault_."

" _Everything_ is _somebody's_ fault. Remember that," Billy tells her, and then he takes two steps back. "Get out of my car, Max. I got places to be."

**Author's Note:**

> i wish i could say theres not a steve pov fic thats going to follow this one but there definitely is.
> 
> title from _hold my liquor_ by kanye.  
>   
> 
> [im on tumblr here if you want to say hi or something. im friendlier than this fic might suggest, i promise.](http://joannavellick.tumblr.com/)


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